Francesca
"Enzo," Faust greeted, shaking the young man's hand. He spoke fast Italian, his sexy mouth moving quickly as everyone was introduced. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. No words, just held out his hand.
I knew what that meant.
Standing up, I tossed my hair back and walked over to him, right beside him, and he slid his arm around my waist. "Enzo, this is Francesca. Dolcezza, these are Signore D'Agostino and Mariella."
"Ciao," I said with a small nod. "Mariella, would you like some prosecco?" I raised my glass. Faust gave me a squeeze, which I assumed meant he approved.
Mariella looked at Enzo—which made me want to roll my eyes—and he nodded, saying a few words in Italian. All I caught was "d'inglese." Then Enzo gave me a tight smile. "She doesn't speak mu
